


The Alphabet of Cablepool

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Alphabet Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Twenty-six short one-shot fics, one for each letter of the English alphabet.





	1. A is for Aduantas

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again. I'm gonna try to update this every other day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aduantas. Irish-Gaelic. The feeling of unease caused by being surrounded by people you don’t know.

Sometimes, Nate really hated himself for what he’d done.

There was an ugly, cruel part of him that regretted bringing Wilson back, even if, looking to the big picture, it was for the best. That part of him squats like a toad in in his chest, ugly and mindless.

It’s worse, surprisingly, when there are other people around. There’s such an uneasy sense to being around so many people that he doesn’t know, all of them harmlessly curious and trying to draw him out of the shell they see him as being in. They treat him like he’s one of them already, like he’s a friend, like he’s special and good and belongs there, and it’s just strange.

When he’s alone, it’s too easy to hear that ugly thing in his chest, the voice that taunts him for getting himself suck here.

But when it’s just him and Wade and the noise of the television, it’s… better, it’s easier. Because he’s forced to face it, to look at who he’s chosen to save and what he sacrificed his life with his family for. Because he knows Wade, in a weirdly intimate way for someone who’s just met him; he can see Wade for the selfish, hedonistic, pitiful mess that he is.

Wade’s not complicated, even though he can’t read his mind; when he’s being an asshole, Wade says so. When he’s withdrawn, Wade doesn’t coax him out so much as drag him, baiting him into a fight. Wade wants him to be happy here, that much Nate understands. But Wade doesn’t treat him like a friend, not by any measure Nate’s familiar with. He calls him his bestie and buddy all the time, but at the same time makes it clear that he barely tolerates him half the time.

It’s different. Wade treats him like a human being, and that’s important. The rest is a confusing, seductive puzzle.

Because Nate hates himself for trapping himself here, sure, and hates Wade for putting him in that position, but no one hates Wade more than Wade does, and Nate recognizes the danger in that kind of self-loathing.

He wants, god help him, to be there for Wade. Maybe even more than he wants to kill him.


	2. B is for Backpfeifengesicht

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backpfeifengesicht. German. Literally, “A face in need of a fist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to iintangible for writing with me and helping me come up with this scenario.

On a good day, Wade’s face was one that could do with a slap. Nate understood that and, with patience, resisted the urge to strike the other man every time something unwarranted, crass, or contrary came out of his mouth. His pretty cyborg hand would break before Wade learned, anyway.

At least, that was why Wade _assumed_ he didn’t bother hitting him every time he opened his mouth. It had to be the patience of a saint, some better-than-you future-boy bullshit that kept him from lashing out.

It was infuriating, and Wade wanted it to end.

“You must really like me,” he says one day, trying to break that patience, to burst the ugly boil of tension that has existed between them since he’d invited Nate to stay here with him in his new shithole apartment.

Wade has never known when to stop, and Nate, as far as he’s seen, never backed down either. He’s the type to escalate, while Nate is the freeze-out type, the kind who’ll push past anything until he snaps and rains down hell. They deserve each other in a weird way, two assholes caught in each other’s orbit. That’s a fucked up metaphor, doesn’t work at all, excepting the fact that it does.

“Yeah, you like me even better than your future-fam, huh?”

The look that earns him is priceless, promising violence without the need for words. And that’s good, that’s what Wade wants. It’s a look that says, “ _I’m going to kill you, and it’s going to hurt_.”

He looks up at Nate, watching him keenly, and wonders if he’ll really try to kill him for that. Not like he’d succeed, but it’s the thought that counts. Wade wants to be dead, more than he wants just about anything; more, he _deserves_ to be dead. Make it up to Ness and finally be allowed a little goddamn peace.

Nate could have the crappy apartment and the fridge all to himself, win-fucking-win. It’s not gonna happen, but it’s a nice thought to have as he watches Nate so carefully set his mug down – like it’s not going to end up spilled all over the dingy carpet – and crouch down to his eye level, leaning in like he’s looking for a smooch or a headbutt.

“I’m giving you one chance to shut that gaping shithole you call a mouth, Wilson.”

If he were worried about getting hurt, this would be the time when he’d have to back down, but he’s not, and he likes egging Nate on, getting him all pissed off and growly.

So instead he leans in a little, so they’re nose to nose, and grins under his mask. “Punish me, daddy.”

A metal hand lashes out, seizing him by the neck and slamming him back into the couch’s cheerless cushions, squeezing hard enough that Wade sees spots for a moment.

“I’m not gonna punish you, Wade,” he says. “But I _am_ going to hurt you. And don’t call me _Daddy_.”

While he’s never really been into the whole choking kink thing before, Wade feels a definite _something_ , and it all has to do with the neat way his throat is swallowed by Nate’s palm, fingers closing tight on his neck. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does, and god yeah he’s that touch starved, that lonely, that the threat of violence at this man’s hand is more a turn on than anything.

There’s no room in the roiling mess that is his mind for shame, not really, and so instead his head tilts back a little, actually _offering_ his throat to the other man as he grins, hands raising on impulse to grapple with the thick metal wrist under his chin. It does hurt, but he always hurts, and so the pain doesn’t bother him yet; his esophagus feels tight and he wants to gag a little, but he’s still him and so he says:

“What’re ya gonna do ‘bout it, Daddy?”

Today was not a good day. Today his face doesn’t just need slapping, it needs punching.

Luckily, Nate obliges this time, hauling back and hitting him again, and again, and again.


	3. C is for Cafune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cafune. Brazilian Portuguese. To tenderly run your fingers through your lover’s hair.

When the loving’s done and the bruises are healing, healed, gone; when they lay alone together in the dingy bedroom of an apartment they don’t really share, not on any permanent, concrete basis; when they’ve kissed their last kiss and Cable is going to sleep, that’s when Wade likes his insomnia.

By and large, insomnia sucks. But he likes watching Nate fall asleep, likes seeing his guard go down. Sometimes he abuses that vulnerability, because he is himself and he can’t help but take advantage to tickle the bastard back awake or slide out of bed and find chocolate sauce or permanent marker to draw on him with. Little pranks, nothing that matters in the long run.

Sometimes, though, when he’s tired and sad and hurting particularly bad, when there’s words bursting in his chest but dying on his tongue, small words, brittle words, important words; when he wants to confess things he’s thought but will never quite be able to say in any forthright manner, then his fingers find Nate’s hair, the way they used to find Ness’s, and he lightly, lovingly runs his fingers through the shorter, stiffer locks.

There’s a pleasant mindfulness to the repetitive motion, a certain level of care that he has to take not to pull at the snarls but rather gently work them out.

And if he can’t say ‘I love you’ out loud (not yet, not yet), well then there’s something sleepily close to those words in the way he tiredly drags his fingers along Nate’s scalp, the way he tucks in close and focuses on nothing but the man under his hand, wanting nothing more in the multiverse than to fall asleep just this way.


	4. D is for Deliquio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deliquio. Latin. A want of something.

Sometimes when they’re apart, Wade misses Nate so bad he thinks it’s a kind of hell he’s suffering, to want so bad.

Nate’s got priorities, and Wade takes a back seat to saving the world from the future he knows. Wade would respect that if he believed for a second that time travel could work out so neatly. Isn’t it some kind of paradox, Nate staying here to fix the future? Wade’s pretty sure it’s a paradox, but the one person he could really sink his teeth into a debate with on the topic was out there, living it.

The thing about Nate was that he was and wasn’t perfect. So he himself was a sort of paradox, and Wade liked that. Nate was gorgeous, and definitely looked like something David Cronenberg dreamed up while high on diesel exhaust. A beautiful nightmare with his sexy metal arm and the way the TO mesh crept and buried itself under his flesh, worming through him all too like the cancer that riddled Wade’s own body, but you know… pretty instead of horrific. And his morals, god, so lofty and high-handed, but selfish, so selfish.

Nate is fucked up, quintessentially, a mess hidden under a well-groomed facade. He’s also _human_ , and he makes Wade feel that much more human when he’s around.

When he’s gone, Wade feels like part of him is missing, and that’s just unfair. It was always like that with ‘Ness, and that pain had finally started to dull, to scab over and scar, and now he had to deal with it for Cable, who wasn’t even dead, just gone to the other side of the world for a while.

All Wade wants is to be swept up in those ridiculously strong arms and crushed to a chest that’s only got one nipple left to it. Sex would be great, but it’s not a priority; it’s not the sex (though the sex is _very_ good) that he misses. He misses the man, such a pretty thought he could almost cry.

He misses the man, and he only left for the airport forty-seven minutes ago.


	5. E is for Effleurage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effleurage. French. Literally, “to stroke, as one would a flower”.

The rough stuff is great; it feels like what Wade deserves and lets him put his overactive brain in time out for a little while, while Nate fucks him stupid.

Stupider?

Something.

They go for the rough stuff most days. It comes more naturally to them both, feels less awkward most of the time than trying to go all sweet-n-gentle, tender flower. Wade doesn’t really go in for that much anyway; soft stuff is too lovey dovey, too emotionally charged. It puts him more in his head; rather than letting him bliss out, he’s thinking about complicated things like if Nate really likes him or if this is part of some really long, drawn out game, and exactly what he’s willing to do about it if it _is_ some kind of joke.

Problem is, he thinks he might be in _love_ with the time-sliding bastard. Which makes his options for fighting with him, if this is a game, kind of fucky.

It’s difficult to think about trying to kill him when Nate’s running his hands, feather light, over Wade’s back, making the muscles tremble and jump under his palms, as if trying to leap up into the touch. When they reach his ass, they smooth into a firmer grip, spreading him open for a moment, trailing blunt nails over lube that had been rubbed possibly an hour ago. Wade wasn’t sure; he wasn’t allowed to look at the clock.

What Wade knows for sure is that Nate’s been touching him like this, all gentle and careful, since the sun went down. He’s achingly hard, but every time he’s gotten close, Nate has backed off, and it’s the strangest form of cruelty Wade’s ever endured. Even Vanessa wouldn’t have teased him for this long, but with Nate it’s like he’s studying him, mumbling sweet things to him every so often; finding new reasons to love him all night long.


	6. F is for Fescennine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fescennine. English, Latin Origin. Lewd or obscene.

Wade loved making Nate feel good, loved that they had this sort of unspoken bond going on that made doing so such an effortless task.

It’s got little and less to do with Nate’s telepathy. Telepathy, evidently, amounted to shit when faced with a brain like Wade’s, though Nate couldn’t explain the reasoning as to why to Wade’s satisfaction. Something about his healing factor and his brain constantly reshaping itself; whatever the reason it sounded nasty, but not in the fun way.

No, it’s not telepathy that brings them so close, it’s just good old fashioned chemistry and Wade’s boundless energy to try anything and everything for his lover.

“Christ, you’re a slut for this,” Nate growls, petting gently over Wade’s bald head, feeling the ridges and pits of scar-tissue. “You’re just… _fuck_.” He bites off whatever he was going to say when Wade sinks down smoothly, impossibly far, taking him into his throat with a hungry little noise.

It’s sloppy and the noises that escape Wade as he moves, bantering even now, with a cock enveloped in his throat and cutting off his air; the noises are magnificently lewd, the kind of noise that’s unmistakable. That’s the sound of dick being sucked, for sure, and he knows Nate, so stoic and mindful, loves those noises even more than he does. Loves the mess, Wade’s nice yellow shirt with the classic My Little Ponies prancing across the front is soaked with drool already.

Nate leans back into the chair he's sitting in, head back on his shoulders, and grinds helplessly into Wade’s willing mouth. There’s no need to be particularly gentle with Wade; that healing factor is good for a few things. “You want me to cum down your throat?” Nate asks, because communication is key and no one likes a surprise mouthful of spunk.

A little nod is enough though, and then Nate’s fingers are clenched around his skull, digging into the flesh as he climaxes just like that, buried in Wade’s throat. He tries to back off and Wade refuses to budge, trying valiantly to swallow around the thick intrusion, milking Nate for all he’s worth.

Only when Nate’s shivering with over-stimulation does he back off, choking when he tries to drag in a breath, moaning happily when two thick TO fingers swear over the thick cum he coughs up and greedily sucking them into his mouth.

What can he say? He’s happiest making Nate happy.


	7. G is for Guttitim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guttitim. Latin. Literally, “drop by drop”.

They fall in love slowly, bit by bit, pieces falling into place in such a way that when they’ve both realized where they’re at, it already feels so natural, all they’re missing is a few stupid little words.

It starts out with casual sex, casual cohabitation, casual passing in and out of each other’s awareness and lives. They’ve both lost people important to them, and feelings aren’t necessary for finding physical relief in one another. Wade is liberating, adventurous and eager to show Nate this century, and for what it’s worth, Nate is firm, grounding. They work together when they are together, but don’t miss each other over much when they’re apart.

At least at first.

Wade will go with him for food and offer him bites off his plate. Nate lets Wade watch him break down and clean his gun, which Wade has dubbed the ‘Awesome Gun’.

One day finds them doing both; Wade eating some microwaved mess that’s barely retained any flavor, and he’s carefully feeding Nate occasional bites while watching him with rapt attention as he reassembles and repairs the Awesome gun. It should feel weird, but it doesn’t, even with the knowledge that Wade only shares with people he likes. He babbles, mouth full half the time, but Nate has already learned to filter the banter into noise, picking up on tone more than individual words.

Nate is surprised to, some time later, find himself actively worrying about some mission Wade’s traipsed off on, and by how eager he is to lay hands on him when he returns home. Wade is never going to quite feel right in his arms, never going to fill the wife-sized hole in him, but there’s something… satisfying about the feel of him there, and Nate holds him tight for a minute before shoving him toward the bed.

And if the words on Wade’s lips that night sound suspiciously like confessions, well… Nate’s not quite ready to hear them, and has long since learned to filter the banter into noise.


	8. H is for Hygge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hygge. Danish. Taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, soothing things.

Sometimes, the dreams are bad.

Real bad, bad enough that he can’t sleep. When he can’t sleep, Wade used to go for walks or count bullets or test the sharpness of his katanas. Find something to punch, find someone to kill, get something to drink or smoke or whatever. All ways of trying to ignore the pain, slap a bandaid on it and not have to think.

Nate has nightmares too.

Makes sense, given that he’s some kind of born and bred soldier. Probably has seen all kinds of traumatizing things, all sorts of messy deaths and painful losses. He doesn’t pry about the subject of Wade’s nightmares and Wade doesn’t pry about his; its a good system and it works.

Funny thing about sleeping with a telepath is that he picks up Wade’s nightmares. Not the details, but the fear, the rage, the self-loathing; he senses Wade’s agitation and knows how to wake him gently. And the funny thing about sleeping with an insomniac is, Wade learns the signs of when Nate’s having dream troubles too, and learns with a little trail and error how to wake him up without getting decked or choked.

Not that he minds a little choking now and then.

On the nights that are bad, they often move to the living room, Nate sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out to rest on the coffee table, Wade laying over the rest of it with his knees drawn up and his head in Nate’s lap.

They bicker about music and end up with a really fucked up mix of things coming through Wade’s Pandora station. He swears Nate can control the stream somehow though; the music stays soothing, calming as they share space. Regardless of who’d needed rescue from sleep, Wade’s always the one who else up with his head in Nate’s lap, just resting on the curve of one thigh while that Terminator hand pets his scalp, gentle and calming.

Neither one of them talks about what they see when they close their eyes, but they both understand well enough. It’s like it’s hardwired in both of them, the trauma, the agony, the helplessness of seeing those faces and places again.

Wade does not want to think about this, but with those fingers smoothing over his skull, thinking if all he can do. He can’t even think of a decent conversation starter.

The dreams don’t stop, or get better for sleeping near one another. This isn’t that kind of story, he sees that plain as day. But, he thinks, the handling of the dreams does.

At the very least, they can chill in the early morning darkness, reminded of something solid and whole and _good_ in their lives by the way they fit together on the couch.


End file.
